


colors

by dreamsdark



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Body Paint, M/M, lion/french tree, perfectworldshipping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsdark/pseuds/dreamsdark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and they burst across his skin, red blooming with the mane on a Pyroar, green infused in the tail of a Serperior, blue appearing in Dragonair’s jewel, brushstrokes as light as air</p>
            </blockquote>





	colors

**Author's Note:**

> whoa AO3 looking good (im new here INCASE YOU COULDN'T TELL) i could get used to this note thing
> 
> also this is copypasta from tumblr, right down to the summary and author notes. so it might sound a bit off cuz im too lazy to change them...
> 
> and this is basically the part where i talk about how i fail so feel free to skip (don’t say i didn’t warn you my writing sux)
> 
> um…so i wanted submissive lysandre, sort of, because i have this weird complex where every ship i ship must be…switchable? like one person isn’t always topping or whatever? but for some reason i don’t mind it too much with this ship…doesn’t stop me from writing it~ (incase you’re wondering, this isn’t actually that…hard to explain)
> 
> also, smut. sort of?
> 
> kay so we’ve established 0 ppl reading? here we go then!

 

Augustine dips the brush in light blue, painting the tiniest details on a Sylveon. Lysandre fights the urge to blinks as the brush paints over his eyelid, ribbons captured perfectly around his eyebrow.  
  
“Stay still,  _mon cher_.”  
  
“I—” Augustine shushes him.  
  
“Still,  _mon cher_.” Lysandre has the urge to roll his eyes, but that would count as moving, so he doesn’t. He forces himself not to shudder as a Houndoom appears on his neck, the brushstrokes feather-light.  
  
Augustine frowns, displeased with some minuscule detail. He licks the paint off, biting down once very gently, and Lysandre’s breath catches. “Is that…safe?” To his surprise, Augustine ignores that his lips are moving.  
  
“It’s edible body paint,  _cher_.”  
  
“And you just had that lying around…?”  
  
“I made it. For you,” he says, smiling softly.  
  
Lysandre turns pink. “I never wanted it.”  
  
“But _I_  want you to have it.” And he restarts the Houndoom, ending the conversation.  
  
Augustine ‘messes up’ thrice, marking his neck with shallow love bites each time. When he finally deems the Houndoom acceptable (and Lysandre’s neck thoroughly abused), he takes blue for a Gyarados constricting his arm, for a Honedge wrapping around his wrist.  
  
He doesn’t finish them all at once, leaving them without yellow to paint a Gallade leaping down his other shoulder, whites and greens blurring into each other.  
  
“ _Tu as froid?_ ” he asks, putting the final touches on Absol curled over his forearm.  
  
“A little,” Lysandre admits. Even though the room is heated, going nude in winter is never a good idea.  
  
“Ah,  _désolé_. Can you hold out a bit longer?” It’s not a question, and it’s not like Lysandre can answer, swallowing a moan as Augustine’s brush, now tipped with brown, dances very pointedly over his chest.  
  
“So,  _this_  is why…”  
  
“Of course. Why else?” Lysandre’s glad that the no-talking rule seems to be taken out, but now he is  _reacting_ , and that is Very Bad, because Augustine will definitely notice and Lysandre may as well be dead.  
  
“Relax,  _mon cœur_.” Lysandre goes crimson, because yes, he has noticed, and  _why couldn’t he just disappear._  Augustine chuckles, picking a yellow to finish the mane of a Pyroar sprawled across the entire left side of his body, tail just touching his thigh.  
  
He closes his eyes, not willing to watch him paint another Pyroar, female this time, positioned so it bites his hipbone. “Open your eyes,  _cher_.  _I want to see you_.” And Lysandre can’t really refuse him like that, so he does, seeing the two Pyroar form a sort of yin and yang on his abdomen. He fights the urge to move, knowing he’ll be sore from staying still for so long.  
  
“Spread your legs.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Spread your legs,  _cherì_ ,” he repeats, his brush clean. “I have more to do.”  
  
Lysandre does, unwilling to meet Augustine’s eyes as he undoubtedly stares at him. “You’re hard,” he observes.  
  
To say he was flustered was an understatement. “Yes, I  _am_ , and  _could you please finish so I can deal with it?_ ” His voice has a sort of hysteria to it, from being in such a vulnerable position.  
  
“Of course.” He brushes over his cock just once, and Lysandre grips the rug underneath him to keep from bucking up. “Don’t worry,  _cher_ , I’ll take care of you once I’m finished, all right?”  
  
He takes a pale blue for a Dragonair, brushstrokes infuriatingly light against his inner thigh. “… _Augustine_ …” he growls.  
  
“Patience,  _mon che_ r.” The Dragonair is finished with a dark jewel, so he dips his brush in green again for a Serperior just under his knee. Lysandre sighs, unsure if he should be relieved or not. It’s probably better not to think about it, with his erection sucking most of the logical thought out of him.  
  
After finally finishing a Roserade arching around his ankle, Augustine stands. “Can I—”  
  
“No. Stay still.” Lysandre grumbles, but doesn’t object. He had promised him this day, and he was not a man to go back on his word. Augustine makes to leave, but he calls to him.  
  
“ _Hurry up_.”  
  
“Of course.” Lysandre relaxes his neck, cursing its soreness. He closes his eyes, thinking of anything but—  
  
“Smile!” He hears the telltale click of a camera, eyes flying wide open.  
  
Augustine holds a camera in his hands, smiling much too happily. Lysandre almost jumps to his feet until he remembers he’s supposed to stay still. He wonders, in a somewhat detached way,  _is that a bad thing? That he has a camera?_  
  
It’s best not to think about it, especially not when there’s soft lips on his and another tongue in his mouth. Augustine’s hair falls into his face, one of his hands snaking down to grip Lysandre’s cock, stroking quickly.  
  
He pulls back, to let him breathe. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs and kisses him hard, drinking in every sound Lysandre makes. Lysandre twitches and trembles under him, throwing his hand down to slam against the ground in a futile effort to stay still. Augustine tuts,  _stay still mon cher_ , easily holding both his hands behind his head with one of his own. It’s not that he’s stronger than Lysandre, definitely not, but when he’s so completely  _gone_ , he’s not even fighting it.

Augustine decides he’s tired of waiting and presses his thumb into the head of his cock, deepening the kiss. Lysandre comes without warning, white splattering over the Pyroar, ruining the perfect Dragonair. Any sound he might have made is muffled by Augustine’s mouth on his, so it’s eerily silent as his back arches, going limp in Augustine’s hand.  
  
Lysandre finally breaks the kiss, panting. He closes his eyes, suddenly very cold, very sore, and very tired. He only opens his eyes when he hears another click of a camera, distantly registering that might be a bad thing.  
  
“Oh, you look  _lovely_  in this…maybe I should put it as my Xtransceiver background—”  
  
“No.  _No_. You are  _not_  doing that. Delete it.  _Now_ ,” he demands, blushing furiously. He makes to knock it out of Augustine’s hands until he realizes his legs may as well be jelly, for how well they worked right now.  
  
“I’m joking,  _cherì_. Only I will be able to see you like this, forever immortalized—”  
  
“Spare me the poetry. Could you, ah, help me clean up?”  
  
“Clean?” Augustine sets the camera off to his side, looking at Lysandre like he’s just noticed the mess over his stomach, the colors bleeding into each other. He starts licking at the Roserade’s bouquet, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. “Why, of course,  _mon cherì_ , I’d  _love_  to.” Augustine bends down, erasing every drop of color off Lysandre’s skin with only his tongue, a paintbrush in reverse turning the canvas blank.

**Author's Note:**

> ENDINGS ARE THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE just ugh everything sounds awkward (same with beginnings) also this sounded about 100x better in my head (and it was already bad there)
> 
> i should stop writing about stuff i don’t know about…like you know, characters for a game I’ve never played (but i’m getting it in…~2 weeks! so happy)
> 
> also can someone tell me what i just wrote i dont understand
> 
> on another note, i would like to point out i wrote this in 3 days. so proud. much quality


End file.
